Balmoral Hall School - Optima Anni Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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BACK ROW, Left to Right: H. Carter, D. dePaiVa, S. Raymond, M. Johnston, A, Wood, D. Lechow, P. Bradshaw. FRONT ROW: S, Richardson, B. Everett, I. Atkins, J. Lawson, G. Alms, H. Moir, L, Vannan. FORM I FORM I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER: Georgie Alms-- for her outstanding personality Bethan Everett-- for her congeniality and understanding of little animals Harriet Carter- for her shining blond hair C it's real! J Dolores dePaiva-- for her sterling leadership as class President and for all the nice things she wrote about the girls in this column Tish Bradshaw-- for her ability to make friends Susan Raymond-- for her French solo Dorothy Lechow-- for her interest in Geography classes Iris Ann Atkins-- for her athletic achievements and good sportsmanship Lisa Vannan- for her great sense of htu'nour Maureen Johnston-- for her laughter Holly Moir-- for her ability to count red dots in Math class Serena Richardson-- for her outstanding creative art projects Allison Wood-- for accidentally kicking over waste-paper baskets in class Jane Lawson-- for her scholastic attainments

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BACK ROW, Left to Right: D. McKeag, A. Wadge, A, Westmond, B. Cole, Z. Atkins L Cramp, N. Lemon, L. Nebbs. FRONT ROW: M. Bremner, P. Carson, N. Russell, D. Sanderson, M. Fahrig, L. David J, Sharman, M. Guy. CAN YOU IMAGINE? Darcy McKeag Marilyn Fahrig Debbie Sanderson Jill Sharman Barbara Cole Alison Wadge Margaret Bremner Louise Nebbs Lesley David Mickey Guy Zenith Atkins Lorraine Cramp Pam Carson Alison Westrnan Nancy Russell being trampled by her own horse? with her Math homework done? in a mini-skirt? with her hair all one colour? as a translator at the United States? running out of sick jokes? without purple clips in her hair? flunking a Math test? bringing her lunch? without a whiney voice? staying awake in Geography? with shiney oxfords? in a black coat? with a voice resounding in the halls? with a low mark? But most of all, can you imagine a 250-pound Lemon? FORM II

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-. ll ,G-Y'-t-1 IN COLD SILENCE It was a cold, still afternoon, with a hard steel gray sky overhead. Planes had been bombing for over eighteen hours. Two weary soldiers could be seen crouching low in a trench. The surrounding countryside lay bleak and bare. Corpses, dells, and quarries exposed their shabby poverty pathetically. They no longer rioted in rich masquerade as they had done during the leafy summer. Everything was now bold, bare, and black, The soldiers stooped low, and in silence. Both were young, not over twenty-three years of age. One was tall, swarthy, with intense dark brown eyes. He had a jutting forehead and a scar marked his left cheek. He was covered in dust. His pants, tattered and torn, his shirt ripped at the back, and his bare feet were blue with the cold. The other soldier wore a helmet pulled far down over his eye- brows, and a gun was slung over his back. His clothes, too, were in a shambles, his hands and face bruised and sore. He took refuge from the cold under an old blanket-coat. The wind turned from chilly to icy as it swept bitterly across the brownish grasses on the lonely hillside. lt was five o'clock. The rattling of machine-guns drew nearer. The drone of the engines of the approaching planes increased. A voice barked orders over a radio which had been thrown down on the floor of the muddy trench. The soldier clutched his gun, alert, listening anxiously. Everything seemed to be closing in on him. Planes were now roaring above them. They were no longer alone. Trenches were filled with allies and enemies. More commands rushed over the radio. The two friends met each others eyes gravely and sincerely. Silence reigned between them amid the noise of war. Nothing was said but their facial expressions revealed their thoughts. Neither spoke, but both understood. Wrapping his coat tightly around his chest one soldier turned quickly and darted from the trench, dodging bullets--obeying his orders. He then stumbled and lay lifeless on the cold ground. His friend, following intently his every move, turned away to hide the burning tears which trickled down his cheek. He wished he was dead. He looked towards the threatening sky, and it was then that this was not the end, that he could not give-up. A whole new light was shed on the picture, He now had worth. He now had two lives to live: his friend's and his own. Sarah Everett Form IV First Prize Intermediate Short Story